Reblogged from Copybot:

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Dear Hyundai and your advertising agency, Innocean,

This is my dad.

His name is Geoff. He married my mum in the eighties and had two little girls, by all accounts the loves of his life.

This is the note he left when he committed suicide in his car:

And this is your new ad.

As an advertising creative, I would like to congratulate you on achieving the visceral reaction we all hope for.

Read more… 456 more words

Per my post from yesterday, this is EXACTLY the sort of bullshit I'm talking about. Hyundai execs need to understand that their advertising is in disgustingly poor taste. Let the viral shaming begin!

I’m infuriated by how things are at the moment.  Politicians who support legislation that suppresses women’s rights.  Corporate officers who maintain their own profits—and those of their shareholders—by cutting jobs left and right and manipulating the financial system at our expense.  Religious zealots who would drag us all into a new Dark Age if they had their way.  The destruction of the environment across the globe.  Violence against women, children, and animals.  I could go on and on and on.

Social and political problems are nothing new.  But I’m so fed up with how the Powers That Be are failing to address them despite the wishes of the general public.  Look at how the Senate rejected the bill that would require background checks prior to gun purchases.  Public support for gun control is at a record high, yet these fuckwads still voted against this measure.  Women make up 50% of the workforce, yet the Equal Rights Amendment remains unratified, the glass ceiling is still firmly in place, and misogynist douchebags are as vocal as ever.  Despite the number of Americans who expressed their disgust during the recent fiscal cliff talks, Republicans and Democrats couldn’t work together to find solutions to our economic difficulties because they were too busy having a dick-measuring contest.

Carl von Clausewitz, the famous military strategist, said, “War is a continuation of policy by other means.”  I believe its inverse is also true: policy is a continuation of war by other means.

I realize that I’m overdramatizing and oversimplifying much of this.  But you get the idea, hopefully.

We can protest, sign petitions, write letters, boycott, and try to vote shady politicians out of office.  But there’s not much hope of success; corporations enjoy “personhood,” politicians are beholden to lobbyists more than to constituents, and companies don’t care about consumers until their bottom lines are adversely affected.

Typically, petitions are effective only when small, specific goals are involved.  A petition to keep one animal from being euthanized, for instance, can be successful; a petition to abolish wholesale animal killing won’t be.  Although I like how in the UK they have e-petitions, where petitions that get more than 100,000 signatures are considered for debate in the House of Commons.  There’s no guarantee that a petition with 100,000 names will be chosen, but it’s an interesting way for British citizens to get their voices heard. [Note: Since writing this, I've learned that the US has a similar thing in place---I suppose I didn't know this because our politicians seem hellbent on remaining deaf to us  Color me shocked.]

Protests can help to shine the spotlight on problems, but in themselves they don’t change anything.  Occupy Wall Street was—and still is—a vital voice for the 99% of us who are getting shafted by the 1%.  But nothing in corporate America has really improved.  Corporate leaders and shareholders are still making money hand over fist while houses are still in foreclosure and the job market continues to languish.  And to date, not one brokerage CEO has been sent to jail for his part in destroying the financial market.

Writing letters to your representative or senator?  One constituent voicing displeasure with a certain policy isn’t going to make much of a difference, unfortunately.  Same with boycotting certain retailers or other companies.  What’s one less consumer to a franchise or a multi-national corporation?  Nothing, really.

Voting idiots out of office can be effective, but government is like a hydra—a multi-headed clusterfuck.  You cut one idiot out, there will surely be two more to take his or her place.

Negative publicity (or what I like to call “public shaming”) can sometimes serve as an impetus for change.  Just a few weeks ago, Disney was slammed for its “I Need a Hero” t-shirts for girls.  News of these shirts spread like wildfire, sparking multiple online petitions and news stories.  Shortly afterwards, Disney removed those shirts from their website.  It’s hard to know whether they would have lost a lot of revenue if they hadn’t—I suspect they wouldn’t have—but it was refreshing to see that corporations can respond to public sentiment and do the right thing.  There are other examples of the power of the consumer backlash, like the New Coke debacle and the Tropicana branding fiasco.  But they largely involved products, not policies.

It often takes years, even generations, for sea changes in attitudes and practices to occur.  At times it takes acts of civil disobedience (e.g., Rosa Parks, the Woolworth’s sit-ins) or rioting (e.g., the Stonewall Riots) to get the ball rolling.  But those daring, drastic acts aren’t ones that most of us have the cojones for.

Power and money are the two things most likely to influence people and organizations to change.  As long as their current practices are lucrative and/or keep them in power, they won’t have any reason to change the status quo.

In one of my favorite acts of civil disobedience, loss of both power and money led to a policy change.  In 1989, Margaret Thatcher instituted the Poll Tax, which set off a series of riots in London, and more importantly, it inspired a massive non-payment campaign.  An estimated 20-30% of the British public refused to pay the tax, and it was abolished by Thatcher’s successor, John Major.  Such protests can succeed because of the sheer number of people involved; what were they going to do, throw all of those people in jail?

So what can we do?  We can write blog posts and use Twitter and Facebook to broadcast information about the injustices we see around us.  And I’m not talking about the impassioned-but-utterly-futile “Share this status if you think child abuse is wrong!” posts on Facebook.  Social media can be immensely helpful in spreading negative publicity, raising awareness, and promoting thought-provoking dialog.  But individually, we can do only so much.  (But if a blog post alone could generate change, then this post would have worked wonders.)

I don’t want to be powerless anymore.  I’m tired of sitting here sputtering with impotent rage.  I want to ACT.  The old saying goes, “Think global, act local.”  Today, with people, countries, and economies being so inter-dependent, we can think globally and act locally AND globally.  I want to make a genuine, tangible difference.  I bet a lot of you do as well.  Now we just have to figure out how to go about it.

That’s right, people.  I’m back.

I do apologize for my prolonged absence.  SO many things have happened over the past month.  Some highlights:

  • I went to my doctor for a checkup, and my blood test results confirmed what I have long suspected: I’m about as venomous as a black mamba.  Over several weeks I donated multiple pints of blood poison for scientists to use in developing new medicines and antidotes.  What can I say, I’m a giver.
  • After another nasty bout of insomnia, I finally gave in and took some Ambien.  But in my drug-induced sleep haze, I evidently boarded an Aer Lingus flight to Dublin and somehow ended up as a masseuse for a local rugby club.  Imagine my surprise when I woke up with a bunch of naked flankers on the tables in front of me.  But these poor guys have a lot of kinks to work out—I couldn’t just leave them there.
  • I won first place in a bunny-sorting contest.  The challenge was to sort 100 black, black & white, white, cream, and grey bunnies into separate circles by color.  It wasn’t easy because the circles were just drawn in chalk on the floor so the bunnies kept hopping out of place.  My time was 3 hours and 21 minutes—just shy of the world record of 3 hours, 18 minutes.

And now I have returned.  You’ll hear more from me on Monday…I’ve got plenty of venom for my next post.  Use your weekend to rest up.

Also, if you haven’t already checked out The Outlier Collective, hosted by yours truly and this guy, then you need to go over there right now.

Also also, be aware that next Wednesday will be the last day of life as you know it—because next Thursday, the great Meizac and I are meeting in real life, and she’ll be staying at the House of Weebles.  Expect new planetary alignments and other world-changing events to occur.

First, I must say, that I am completely honored and humbled to be axed by Madame Weebles to be a guest blogger. I swear, it’s better than anything I’ve ever had to drink barium for.

On to why I’m really here–to point out the weird, the wacky and the uber-choady. Oh and the creepy.

Like this story.

Prepare to feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand the fuck up and run for cover, because this just creeps the shit outta me.

Bat-eating spiders are everywhere, study finds

From CBS News.

Now, first a bit of history. McCrabass (me) was bitten by a Black Widda Spider many years ago while I was living in LA. I got very sick and ended up hallucinating in the Cedars-Sinai ER for about 12 hours. Ever since that day, I pay attention to spiders. Now, I don’t kill them, I keep a healthy distance from them. Just like they  know better to NOT fuck with the McCrabass–or else. On my McCrabass blog, I’ve even written about spiders you can fucking throw a saddle on and go “Tally ho!” Then, ride off into the sunset.

Here is yet another post about the wonder that is the creepy as all hell spider.

Back to the arachnids that EAT flying mammals, and I bet they don’t do it just for sustenance..they probably do it for sport. Fucking asshole spiders. Sheesh.

“There’s only one place in the world to escape bat-catching spiders: Antarctica. These arachnids ensnare and pounce on bats everywhere else in the world, researchers say.”

Please don’t pack up the U-Haul just yet to move to Antartica–that’s an awful place too. There is other shit that’ll kill you there faster than a spider and that shit is called sub-zero temperatures.

“Approximately 90 percent of known bat-catching spiders live in the warmer areas of the globe, in the third of the Earth surrounding the equator. About 40 percent live in the neotropics — the whole of South America, and the tropical regions of North America — while nearly a third live in Asia and more than a sixth live in Australia and Papua New Guinea.

 Eighty-eight percent of the reported cases of bat catches were due to web-building spiders, with giant tropical orb-weaving spiders with a leg-span of 4 to 6 inches (10 to 15 centimeters) seen catching bats in huge, strong orb-webs up to 5 feet (1.5 meters) wide.

 In instances seen in Costa Rica and Panama, the spiders had built their webs near buildings inhabited by bat colonies. Bat-catching via spiderwebs was also witnessed particularly often in the parks and forests of the greater Hong Kong area. Future research may investigate whether the huge webs that sometimes block the entrances of tropical bat caves in east and southeast Asia and the neotropics may occasionally snag any members of the giant swarms of bats thatemerge from the caves at night.”

Ok. WHAT. THE. ENTIRE. FUCK????

(courtesy livescience.com)

(courtesy livescience.com)

Waaaaaaait for it ….

COME THE FUCK ON!!

COME THE FUCK ON!!

Poor Batman ...

Poor Batman …

You know, there really is nothing more to say on this subject except this: I smell the plot of the next Batman movie.

*shudders*

 

Reblogged from Isaacs Picture Conclusions:

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Hello and welcome to another edition of ISAACS INTERVIEWS!! Today I proudly present interview session two with the great and powerful MADAME WEEBLES from the wonderful, hilarious, wry, poignant and occasionally sentimental FEAR NO WEEBLES! Have you ever met MADAME WEEBLES?? If not – you SHOULD! Her site is a fantastic place to be! And just so you know a little back story, MADAME WEEBLES used to be a NYC Cop who once vacationed in L.A.

Read more… 1,954 more words

Please join me for Part 2 of my interview, where Mr. Isaacs asks more hard-hitting questions.  I'm serious, I still have the bruises.

Like many of you, I sing along when I’m listening to music.  It’s not pretty, but I do it anyway.

There are a lot of singers I can’t keep up with—their voices are either too high or too low for me.  Usually I get around it by going down or up an octave.  Or if I’m feeling fancy, I’ll harmonize.  But sometimes I feel stupidly ambitious and try to hit the actual notes.  The other day I tried to match Pat Benatar.  That was a mistake.  I sounded like I had my ovaries caught in a vise.

I don’t fare any better when I try to match someone with a really deep voice—Elvis Costello at his deepest, for instance.  I sound possessed, and it makes my vocal chords itch.

But there are some singers with vocal ranges that I can almost always match perfectly.  I call them Goldilocks Singers:  Not too high, not too low.  Juuuuust right.  For a chick, I have a relatively low-pitched voice; I’d most likely be a contralto if I were a legitimate singer (I have no problem singing comfortably well below middle C).  And for whatever reason, I find that I sing along best with Michael Hutchence from INXS (RIP, sir).  Most of my Goldilocks Singers are men but there are women on the list as well.  Sadly, the vast majority of my favorites aren’t Goldilocks (Geddy, honey, I’m so sorry but you often sing too high for me).

Here’s a partial list of my Goldilocks Singers:

Michael Hutchence
Billie Joe Armstrong, Green Day
Peter Murphy (except when he hits those basement-level notes)
Elvis Costello (ditto)
Billy Joel
Richard Butler, Psychedelic Furs
Dave Gahan, Depeche Mode
Pink
Shirley Manson, Garbage
Fiona Apple
Chrissie Hynde
Stevie Nicks

Okay, I’ve showed you mine.  Now you show me yours.

shut-up

Welcome, dear ones, to the latest installment of Sit Down & Shut Up, in which the Magnificent™ Le Clown and I help you with life’s pressing challenges.  Our inaugural column was a huge success and we look forward to assisting you once again.

I considered making the title of this post “Ohhhhhh SNAP!” or “Awwwww DIP!!!” but this title felt a little more mature.

Some of you may recall this post, in which I talked about coming up with a great, pithy line but the troglodytes at my workplace didn’t get it.  It was less than satisfying.

Today’s discourse is on snotty comebacks.  Usually I think of them about 20 minutes after the fact and I kick myself for not coming up with them sooner.  Every once in a while, though, the gods smile upon me and I think of the right thing to say at just the right time.

For example, when I was in high school (yeah, I was snotty back then too), some friends and I were talking to this guy who was sort of obnoxious.  One of my friends wasn’t in the mood for his antics and she told him he was a jackass.  He turned to me and said, “What’s her problem?  You guys have never called me anything like that before.”  And I replied, “Not to your face, anyway.”  BURN!

Then there was the time I was having dinner in a nice restaurant with a friend.  A couple with a screaming child (he was maybe 2 years old) was two tables away.  The parents paid no attention and made no effort to comfort their little boy, and the wails became higher and more ear-splitting as the evening went on.  To be fair, it wasn’t the kid’s fault—he never should have been subjected to a 2+ hour meal at a place like that.  And it wasn’t his fault that his parents were inattentive fucks.  When the family finally left, they passed our table.  My friend loudly proclaimed, “Thank God they’re finally leaving.”  The mother, presumably thinking she would patronize us and shame us into submission, stopped and snipped, “Oh, I know, you’re really suffering.  Kids are such a pain, right??”  I smiled. “Not all kids.  Just yours.”  BURN!

Then there was the time I was at my local pet food shop.  It was a small space with little room to maneuver.  On this particular day, I was joined in the store by a shrieking harpy and her doormat boyfriend/husband.  She bitched nonstop about anything and everything, and stood around blocking the entire fucking store.  No matter where I was, she was in my way.  And she took umbrage at my efforts to get past her.  Mind you, I did say “Excuse me.”  If she hadn’t been so busy yattering away, perhaps she might have heard me.  Instead, she muttered “Bitch” just loud enough for me to hear.  I looked at her, rolled my eyes and calmly said, “You’re so boring.”  An unconventional response, but one that I suspected would drive her apeshit.  And it did.  BURN!!

Now I’d like to close with one of my all-time favorites, which wasn’t a burn but a great line nonetheless:

When I was in college, a bunch of us got into a stuffed animal fight, hurling teddy bears and other plush toys at each other (yeah, I know, but give me a break, we were freshmen).  One of my friends sustained a direct hit with a bunny.  She cried, “I’ve been killed by a Gund!!”

And I said, “Gunds don’t kill people.  People kill people.”

I’m still patting myself on the back for that one.

Reblogged from Isaacs Picture Conclusions:

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Hello and welcome to another edition of ISAACS INTERVIEWS!! Today I proudly present interview session one with the great and powerful MADAME WEEBLES from the wonderful, hilarious, wry, poignant and occasionally sentimental FEAR NO WEEBLES! Have you ever met MADAME WEEBLES?? If not - you SHOULD! Her site is a fantastic place to be! And just so you know a little back story, MADAME WEEBLES used to be a NYC Cop who once vacationed in L.A.

Read more… 1,494 more words

Friends, I've finally hit the big time. I've been interviewed over at Isaacs Picture Conclusions. Check it out. It's honest, hard-hitting, disturbing, and has a hint of lemon.

At long last, I finally got my ass in gear and extended invites to some bloggers to guest post here at Fear No Weebles.

For our inaugural guest post, I am pleased to present the excellent The Unbearable Banishment, all the way from Blogger.com!  I discovered his blog through our very own Daisyfae—thanks, girl—and thought he would be an ideal person to kick off the festivities.  Go check out his blog, you won’t be sorry.

So without further ado, please enjoy this tragi-comic post, entitled:

Clueless Young Love

When I think back to my early conquests, the breadth of my naiveté regarding the sweet science of love is almost too astonishing to believe. I hung out with a clumsy, unattractive and unpopular bunch so there were never any in-depth discussions about seduction or technique. For me, it was an arduous learning process.

For a good long while, I mistakenly thought that you got a girl to sleep with you through insistent begging. I thought that the game of love was to wear down a woman’s resolve until she finally capitulated. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that haranguing was not considered a legitimate aspect of foreplay. During that time, I missed a lot of opportunities. A lot. I was unaware of the women who were willing to and, in fact, wanted to sleep with me. But I realize it now. Too late! And as Bukowski said, “There’s nothing worse than too late.”

* * *

The first time I had sex, she whispered, “You can do it.” But the DASTARDLY DEED had already been DONE. Admittedly, an inauspicious debut. My first girlfriend had the temperament of a sea monster, which certainly didn’t help matters.

* * *

Early on, I used condoms that were about as thick as a garden hose. I didn’t know anything about lamb skins and sensitivity. I was mortified that I had to buy them at all! I just wanted to get in and out of the drugstore as quickly as possible without asking, or being asked, any questions.

The condoms robbed me of all sensation. So much so, that often times, I couldn’t finish. Occasionally, I’d just yank the damn thing off, toss it to the side and charge ahead. Admittedly, in retrospect, a terrible idea. When I think of all the unprotected sex I had, it’s a miracle I never had to deal with an unwanted pregnancy. Or worse.

* * *

I once read an article by a woman who said her boyfriend was so emotionally overwhelmed by sex that he routinely wept afterwords. She found this romantic and touching. So the next time I slept with my girlfriend, I tried to cry but my heart just wasn’t in it. My blubbering sounded fake and ridiculous and insincere. My girlfriend asked if I was having a mental breakdown. We broke up soon thereafter.

* * *

Once upon a time, I was making out. I got up and put on a CD by Kenny G. I didn’t like his music very much, but I thought it would be romantic. That’s what I had read somewhere. About two songs in she stopped kissing me, sat up and yelled, “My GOD! Would you PLEASE turn that OFF!”

* * *

I faked an orgasm once. The sex became tedious and went on for far longer than it should have, so I decided to end it by faking an orgasm. I believe she was equally relieved it was over. I did us both a big favor.

* * *

We tumbled into bed and cranked-up the Bose radio on her nightstand. A simulcast from Carnegie Hall was being broadcast. The Cleveland Orchestra was well into Beethoven’s 9th. As those last few bombastic notes played out, at that exact same instant, I achieved my Moment of Glory. There was a quiet pause, I exhaled, and the Carnegie Hall audience erupted into a thunderous ovation. The bedroom was filled with it. My girlfriend under me started laughing hysterically. I didn’t think it was that funny.

* * *

Many years ago, on a warm summer night, we sat in the rooftop garden of a brownstone in downtown Brooklyn with the nighttime Manhattan skyline as the backdrop. To our left, the Statue of Liberty glowed her amorous blue/green. The World Trade Center was alight and we could see the Brooklyn Bridge stanchions with their beautiful cathedral window cutouts bathed in soft, ornamental flood lights. She put her hand on my cheek, leaned forward and kissed me…

I thought I’d end with a fond memory.